The air in the stone courtyard was heavy, saturated with the scent of old smoke and the remnants of battles whose traces had yet to be erased from the cracked walls surrounding it. The stains of dried blood on the stone pillars trembled with every breeze that swept through the open courtyard, as though they could sense what was coming before it happened.
On the seats, a tall man stood with a gray cloak draped around his shoulders, swaying gently with his calm breaths. His eyes held a strange serenity—the serenity of someone accustomed to being the strongest wherever he went, yet who had also learned the meaning of defeat. He raised his head and looked directly at the two men sitting before him.
"My name is Remiro, and my title is the Wind-Cutting Swordsman. I have come here to form an alliance."
The name "Wind-Cutting Swordsman" was not merely a title given without reason. It was a name feared throughout the southern region of the Kingdom of Ice, where his legend had been born. There, where ordinary winds met the biting winds of ice and snow, Remiro had accomplished what no one else had been able to do: he had merged the two energies into a single harmonious force, creating a unique fighting style that allowed him to stand at the very peak of the new generation of warriors.
There was no one among his generation who dared to stand in his way...
Except for one.
Ryo.
That name alone was enough to awaken a bitter feeling within Remiro. Despite all his strength, despite all the legends woven around his sword, he had tasted defeat at Ryo's hands—not once, but twice.
It was something he had never told anyone, carrying it within his chest like a wound that refused to heal.
---
On the opposite side, a man wearing a dark blue robe embroidered with silver threads resembling patterns of frozen snow sat quietly. His features carried an air of princely arrogance, and the sharpness in his eyes had never faded from the moment Remiro entered.
He slowly rose to his feet, his hand sliding toward the hilt of the sword hanging from his waist.
"So you are the Wind-Cutting Swordsman..." Narvik spoke in a calm voice, yet there was something resembling a challenge within it. "If I remember correctly, you are from the Kingdom of Ice, aren't you?"
Narvik did not wait for a response.
He drew his sword from its sheath in one smooth motion. At the same instant, crystals of ice began forming in the air around him, suspended like tiny stars waiting for a single command before descending upon their target.
"Ice Art!"
Narvik shouted, and his energy surged forward like a wave of coldness that swept through the courtyard.
Ice formed in the air in the shape of spears and razor-sharp blades, all of them shooting toward Remiro at a speed that could take one's breath away.
Any ordinary warrior would have found himself completely surrounded with no means of escape.
But Remiro did not move from his position.
He did not raise his sword.
His expression did not change.
The only thing he did was smile.
In the next moment, wind exploded around him in every direction. The wind had not been visible before, as though it had been silently waiting to be summoned.
That wind swept through the incoming ice spears and tore them apart into countless fragments, which fell to the ground like rain made of shattered crystal before melting into the air.
Only two seconds had passed, yet every one of Narvik's attacks had vanished as though they had never existed.
Remiro looked at Narvik with a gaze that carried genuine pity rather than arrogance.
"I am truly sorry, Your Highness. I am in the World of the Connected, Middle Stage, while you are still only in the World of the Scripture Reader."
His words were not so much an insult as they were a shocking truth.
The difference between the "World of the Scripture Reader" and the "World of the Connected" was not merely a difference in rank. It was an abyss separating two entirely different realms of power.
And Remiro in particular, who had once reached the Legendary Stage before breaking through the barrier into the World of the Connected, understood that gap better than anyone else.
---
Narvik's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword until his fingers turned white. His humiliation was stronger than his awareness of the true gap between him and his opponent.
He was not prepared to retreat.
At the same time, Remiro also grasped his sword, his movement calm and unhurried.
In the next moment, ice and snow once again began gathering around Narvik, as though they were a part of his body that could never be separated from him, ready to strike at any moment.
Across from him, the wind began circling around Remiro's body at an increasing speed, forming a faint vortex around him that warned of a storm far more violent than the one before.
The courtyard was on the verge of becoming a true battlefield.
But before either of them could take a single step, the air suddenly split apart.
A strand of black lightning appeared, sharp as the edge of a sword. It pierced through the space between them as though cutting through time itself before its thunderous sound faded across the courtyard.
"That's enough."
With only two words, spoken in a calm voice yet carrying an irresistible weight, the ice surrounding Narvik shattered into countless tiny fragments that scattered through the air like dust.
On the other side, the wind swirling around Remiro was struck by an enormous invisible force. It scattered and vanished in the blink of an eye, as though an unseen hand had closed around it and erased it from existence.
Remiro stood silently for a moment, genuine shock appearing across his face.
From the moment he had entered, he had assumed that Narvik was the leader, while the silent man sitting beside him—who had not spoken a single word until now—was merely an ordinary subordinate unworthy of attention.
But at that very moment, everything became clear.
The true leader was not Narvik.
It was Baran.
---
Baran calmly sighed from his seat, as though what had just happened was nothing more than an ordinary occurrence to him.
"Since you came here to form an alliance, then let us talk about the alliance."
Baran understood the situation in the city better than anyone else.
Everyone, without exception, was yearning for that great "Legacy" that was about to be opened, yet at the same time, everyone feared the others.
Therefore, every faction had begun forming alliances, attempting to secure a foothold before the real battle began.
Baran knew very well that he and Narvik, despite all their strength, stood at the bottom of the true balance of power among the competing factions.
Remiro's proposal for an alliance had therefore arrived at the perfect time.
If this alliance succeeded, they would not be the only ones standing on the sidelines of the event. They would also have their share of the great "pie" that everyone was fighting over.
"Very well. We agree to the alliance," Baran finally said, a hint of confidence in his voice befitting someone accustomed to leading others. "What are your conditions?"
Remiro remained silent for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh before speaking.
"I don't have many conditions. I only want you to fight someone for me when the Legacy begins."
He paused briefly, as though weighing his words, then added in a voice closer to a murmur:
"And I will help you as well. But when the Legacy emerges, I don't want the alliance to be destroyed. This alliance will remain intact until the Legacy is completely concluded. Naturally, we will divide the spoils among all of us."
Remiro was remarkably straightforward. He did not attempt to hide his intentions behind twisted words or vague promises.
And that was precisely what made Baran and Narvik agree immediately, without much hesitation.
Narvik then spoke, his sharpness having eased slightly after witnessing the true difference in strength.
"Right... Who is the person you want us to fight for you?"
Narvik wanted to know the identity of their coming enemy.
So did Baran, who kept his eyes fixed on Remiro, waiting for his answer.
But before Remiro could open his mouth, a voice suddenly emerged from nowhere.
From no particular direction.
It seemed to rise directly from the folds of the air itself.
"It's me."
Suddenly, the space in the center of the courtyard split apart, and a man stepped out, wearing a smile devoid of any warmth.
His energy erupted and filled the entire area in an instant.
Baran and Narvik stood frozen in shock, staring at the strange energy radiating from him.
It was a dark crimson energy mixed with faint blackness that twisted as though it were alive, resembling the breath of a dormant beast.
Narvik muttered almost inaudibly, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.
"Is that... Demonic Cultivation?"
---
Elsewhere in the city, far from the noise of that confrontation, stood a majestic palace atop the hills. Ancient stone walls surrounded it, covered in old symbols whose meanings were difficult for the naked eye to comprehend.
Inside, in a dark hall illuminated by a single flame hanging from the wall, the City Lord sat upon his elevated throne.
Before him stood three young men, bowing silently in respect as they awaited his words.
The City Lord looked at them with eyes that revealed nothing of his emotions. He sighed calmly before speaking.
"Although the Legacy doesn't matter to me in the slightest... I don't want to regret it later."
He paused for a moment, as though reviewing countless matters in his mind that none of those present could possibly know about.
Then he continued:
"You will go and participate in the Legacy. And also... do not do anything to Wei Tian. Let him do whatever he wants. Is that clear?"
His tone left no room for argument.
It was a firm command that allowed no objection.
Upon hearing the order, one of the young men nodded and spoke in a low voice filled with obedience.
"Yes, Clan Master."
In the next moment, the three of them vanished as though they had never been there in the first place, leaving behind only the silence of the hall and the trembling flame on the wall.
The City Lord remained seated alone for a moment, his gaze wandering into the darkness before him.
He muttered softly to himself:
"I hope everything goes well, and that..."
He did not finish his sentence.
He suddenly vanished from his place, just as the three young men had disappeared before him, leaving behind a question hanging in the air that no one dared to complete.
---
And in the early morning, as the first rays of sunlight began slipping between the towers of the city, the auction began.